


Vulnerability

by orphan_account



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bottom Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Dom/sub, F/M, First Time Bottoming, Gentle Dom Jaskier | Dandelion, Mildly Dubious Consent, Safeword Use, Subdrop, Top Jaskier | Dandelion, on both sides due to a lack of proper communication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:34:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23679226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “I do trust you, Jaskier,” She insists because she does. She was just-Well. Scared isn’t the right word, because she’s never been scared. She expelled the emotion from her vocabulary.
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 3
Kudos: 82





	Vulnerability

**Author's Note:**

> i set out to write filthy bottom!yenn porn and instead got feelings
> 
> **TW:** Yennefer's headspace is not the best in this! Do not read if that may trigger you.

The first time Jaskier tops is preceded by an hour-long conversation. 

At first, Yennefer tries to argue that they’ve been doing this long enough to know each other’s boundaries. Jaskier unhelpfully points out that this will be a new dynamic, therefore, new boundaries. He leads her into it, sharing some of his own hard limits. She forces herself through admitting a few of her own but offers no elaboration. 

“I know admitting weakness is hard,” He tells her, and she hates him just a little for being able to read her so well. “But thank you for trusting me, love.” 

In the end, they arrange to use a simple color system. Yellow is good. Red is bad. He reassures her more times than he can count that despite what it seems, she will be in control of everything. She decides what happens and when. 

Yenn doesn’t believe him, that first time. In her head, all she can hear is a voice telling her to never lie beneath a man. She is above that, above everyone. She is the most powerful mage on the continent and she needs to feel like it. 

Jaskier is just a bard. He holds no power over her. Not unless she lets him. 

Her robe gets discarded with little fanfare. He lays her back on the bed and leans over her, but only on one arm. He purposely leaves her right side completely unobstructed. She could roll away from him faster than he could blink. 

“Color?”

“Yellow.” 

He brings his legs on to the bed, one knee on either side of her. Puts his hands on her sides, right below her breasts. Kisses her again. 

“Color?” 

“Are you going to ask me that every time you move, bard?” She demands, lip curled in annoyance. 

“Yes.” He doesn’t even flinch before answering and she hates that she’s relieved. 

She lays her head back against the pillows. “Yellow.” 

He nods, then moves his hands along her skin, cupping her breasts in his hands for a moment before moving upwards to her shoulders. He pushes her hair off of her neck before smoothing down her arms. His fingers come to rest around her wrists - loose at first, then slowly tightening into something firm as he pulls her hands above her head.

It sends a shiver down her spine. 

“Do you think you can keep those there for me, my lady? Or do I have to hold you down?” He asks(comma) and somehow makes it not sound degrading. Like she wouldn’t be less for wanting his hands to stay.

“I think I can manage, especially if you insist on taking everything this slow,” She bites out because her cheeks are hot and it’s easier to blame that on anger.

“Don’t be cheeky, love,” He scolds her and squeezes her wrists tight. Her breath gets caught in her throat, choking off any snipe or sass she was going to reply with. He has the slightest of smirks on his face and she knows that reaction didn’t get past him. 

“Or maybe I _will_ hold you down, my lady.” He whispers, leaning down and scraping his teeth against her neck. He switches the hold on her wrists to one hand, trailing his newly freed one down her body. She tries to pull away but the hold remains strong and fuck if that doesn’t send a bolt of heat right to her cunt. 

“Color.” He demands, breath hot against her. 

“Fucking _yellow_.” 

“Good girl,” He praises, then bites down _hard_. She arches her back, mouth dropping open with a gasp, presses her legs together and squirms against him. With his free hand, he pulls her legs apart again and moves so his thigh is in between them. 

“Now, now, none of that,” He mutters against her neck before pulling away. He admires the mark on her neck with a shit-eating grin that she wants to slap off his face. Her hands jerk in his grip again. 

“Color, my lady?” 

“Yellow,” She breaths out, voice betraying her with its softness. She isn’t _soft_. 

“You’re being so good for me, Yenna, so good,” He hums, leaning down once more and pressing kiss after kiss to her lips. A part of her gets flooded with warmth at the praise while every single other part of her argues that she hasn’t been very good at all. 

“I want you to take over, yeah?” He continues, pressing his thigh more firmly against her. “Can you grind against my leg for me? Show me how my lady pleases herself?” It’s phrased like a question, but his voice is low and commanding.

She makes the mistakes of looking into his eyes. He’s watching her with raw, unhindered awe. Adoration. Lust.

Love.

“ _Red_.” She hisses out. That angry vicious thing inside her wants to prove his eyes wrong, wants to prove that this is all a farce and that when she stops cooperating he’ll try to take her control by force. 

He immediately gets off of her and asks if she’s alright. 

She must stare at him stupidly for far too long because he begins to babble nervously.

“Yenna, my lady, my love, I really need a verbal answer from you right now. Should I call somebody? Was it the wrists? Did you feel trapped?” He’s getting more frantic with every word and she knows she should tell him that she’s fine because she feels light and airy and it’s all because–

“You listened,” She bursts out, and he freezes. 

“That’s why we made the word?” He replies like it wasn’t even a question that he would.

And she supposes deep down she knew it really wasn’t.

“I’m okay, now,” She says. “We can keep going.” She leans back onto the pillows once more. 

He’s quiet for another moment. 

“Yenn, I think we need to have another conversation before we do this.” He admits. “I’m not comfortable going forward without knowing you trust me.” 

“I do trust you, Jaskier,” She insists because she _does_. She was just- 

Well. Scared isn’t the right word, because she’s never been scared. She expelled the emotion from her vocabulary. 

“I would hate it if I did something you didn’t like because you didn’t trust that I’d stop if you said.” He runs a hand through his hair. Inhales. Exhales. Then smiles at her with all the love in the world. It’s made bittersweet by how tired his eyes are. 

“Tomorrow, we’ll talk.” She promises, then holds her arms out. He climbs up on to the bed once more, next to her this time, and lays his head on her shoulder. 

They lay there in comfortable silence, and she ponders. Jaskier is just a bard. He’s a human. A pretty face and nimble fingers, calloused from lute playing. He doesn’t have magic. He doesn’t know how to hold a sword. He gets himself into trouble every time he opens his mouth, which is often. And yet– 

“Goodnight, Yenna,” He mumbles under a yawn. He pulled the blanket over them both at some point without her feeling it. 

“Goodnight, Jaskier,” She whispers back. 

“Mm, love you.”

“…I love you too.”

He holds no power over her, not right now. But she thinks she might just be able to let him. 


End file.
